


Neccesity is the Mother of Invention

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs Blue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A big, long thing where I can post my drabble from anon prompts, stuff I worked on for fun, and things of the sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Note to Self

> **York is terrible at giving away gifts during random times of the year.**
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> * * *
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They'd just finished a rather bland planet-side visit.

But 'bland' wasn't the right word for it.

To further detail you, If you went around and looked at the other planets (whether smaller or larger than Earth), you’d find that there was a very surprising mixture of alien and human culture, and most of the time—because humans were still inappropriately territorial and therefore the American flag was waving in locations it shouldn’t—there were entirely Earth-like things sitting around in whatever malls or night clubs you might get in to. After-all; a lot of space had been claimed for the human race.

Those ‘entirely Earth-like things’ included those stupid shirts with the English flag on them and those goddamn ‘Spanish Sombreros’ and don’t even get me started on the football (or soccer; it depended on where you got it from) jerseys that had every fucking country flag stamped on them.

And of course, alongside these terrible jerseys and shirts and hats; there came those ever-so-cheesy shirts that said ‘I love ’. It just so happened that whenever the Mother of Invention pulled over on a planet to pick up on supplies or hang around just for the sake of hanging around, there were certain people—certain people who were one of the top ten on the leader board-- who took advantage of these terrible tourist items most people bought only for the sake of being ironic.

That certain someone not only bought them whenever he saw them for the sake of being ironic, but also because they were ironically convenient and actually pretty decent gifts.

If you haven’t guessed who that ironic buyer was yet, then let me give you a hint: It’s Agent York. Agent York of Project Freelancer, who was by far the most enthusiastic about the occasional planet-side drop by on his team. Agent York, who may or may not make a terrible joke or two at times. Agent York; who seemed to have an endless supply of money to spend on stupid things (though in all technicality, everyone did). Agent York; who may or may not go to over-the-top extents to ensure that he had some stupid souvenir to give to someone else.

Which brings us to his current dilemma.

"Note to self," York mutters to himself. He's sitting on the most preferable couch in the rec room, and with the way he's postured it would be fitting for his hands to be folded neatly over each other. But they're not, so him having his chin propped up on them and his perfectly straight back looks very odd.

"Carolina does not like shirts that say 'I Love New York'."

Carolina, who was sitting in an equally awkward way, nods her head in agreement. She's frowning and doesn't seem like she'll stop doing so anytime soon, but assuming that you know how to read through her emotions; you would fine that she's also wearing a partially amused smirk. Only that smirk was clouded by that frown, which was what made it hard to see in the first place.

She runs a hand along the arm of her chair. "That's right," the playful smirk becomes a bit more prominent. Carolina holds the recently-gifted shirt in her lap.

The shirt wasn't given to her for any special occasion. It was one of those times where the planet they'd dropped by happened to have a relatively major and therefore store-covered city. There had been some sort of silent and mutual agreement that everyone would either a) buy something stupid for someone else, b) purchase whatever alcohol they could find, or c) actually help out with whatever Mother's needed help with that would require them to make a stop.

Naturally, the shirt was one of those gifts that only existed because of the silent and mutual gift-giving agreement. None of the 'gifts' were actually anything good. Everyone saved anything especially thoughtful for Christmas. Or New Year's. Carolina's team usually combined New Year's and Christmas together. None of them genuinely celebrated Christmas in the way that it was meant to celebrated. They just told stupid stories and got drunk and a whole lot of other things.

But today wasn't Christmas. Today was basically entirely irrelevant to Christmas. Today was some day in the middle of September, and they were all floating around on the Mother of Invention; suspended in space and not feeling genuinely solid ground, although they had gained the pleasure of feeling solid ground earlier the day before.

"You should at least give me credit for trying," York breaks the very short silence-- which lasted for only a few seconds-- with this complaint.

Carolina shakes her head. "Nah."

"Why not?"

"Cause' your excuse for getting Wash something that says 'Washington D.C' and not 'Washington' is terrible."

"I thought we were the Wash-teasing duo." He sounds legitimately disappointed.

The grin makes an appearance again. "The Wash-teasing duo can be split up by terrible excuses."

York stands up and sits himself down next to Carolina. She's sitting on the two-cushioned couch next to one of the three glass tables in the room. Her expression hasn't changed in a way that didn't follow the unamused frown to teasing smirk transition.

Carolina unfolds the shirt and spreads it out; examining the details more closely. It's an odd mixture of orange and yellow and the words are white. "Why would this ever occur to as something good to buy?"

"It seemed fitting."

"Maybe it is."

York sinks back into the part of the couch that's behind him. If he were in the centre, he might've genuinely sunken into it. "Are you ever gonna wear it?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

"I thought it was stupid."

"And untrue."

"Is it?"

"It isn't. But only to a certain extent."


	2. The Fault in Our Quotes

**York starts out by misusing a quote from a book that he and Wash have read; and them being the dorks they are, they continue to use and misuse quotes. Carolina doesn't understand them, of course: because she never reads [books](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CortanaBlue#) 'just for fun', but she goes along with it anyway.**

 

* * *

 

“It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing.”

“You’ve got a lighter in your other hand.”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t all that unusual to [find](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) York making up his own little physiological comments and views and voicing them with a profound and sarcastically all-knowing tone. It wasn’t all that unusual to find him quoting various movie and book characters, either. And it certainly wasn’t uncommon to find him contradicting himself while he does something just for the sake of being ironic.

Which meant that at least some other person had to correct him and point out that those idiotic remarks were idiotic and didn’t really have much of a reason to be said; and there happened to be two other people who would correct him every time he said something stupid: and that was Wash and Carolina. Carolina more than Wash; but whenever Wash could put himself alongside Carolina and [get back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) at York for teasing him all those other times, he did exactly that.

“I’ve got a lighter in my other hand, but the cigarette’s not burning yet,” York replies; balancing the lighter between his thumb and forefinger. The cigarette is being held the same way; only the back of it is supported between his teeth.

Wash only shakes his head. “But you’re _gonna_ light it. You actually smoke, York. There’s no ‘metaphor’ or whatever,” he reasons; making a wide variety of hand motions at his first few words before deciding it would be better to keep a mostly-stiff posture. He and Carolina were doing the teasing to York now, but that could very well change, and Wash _really_ didn’t want to deal with York’s whole ‘I’m going to act like an older sibling and hound at you because you drink with a swirly straw and like cats over dogs’ thing.

“And you refuse to take your helmet off even when you’re eating,” York remarks with an exasperated nod of his head; raising a brow. It was incredibly [easy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) to see that hesitant and unsure expression on Wash’s face. York planned on pointing that out, too—but not right now. Carolina was still here, and she looked especially annoyed by the whole _idea_ of this conversation existing.

She had to right to hate it, too.

For one, it had the unfortunate pleasure of its [location](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) being in front of locker rooms. Right in front of them. _Both_ of them. Sure: no-one had walked in or out of them yet (it would be unpleasant if someone should do that; because York was leaning right against the door to the girl’s and Carolina had propped herself up against the wall nearest to the guy’s: and she was dangerously close to the door.) but that could very [easily change](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#).

“Well, both of your forementioned behavioral flaws aside—what happened to your whole ‘If it has the possibility of causing complications from the moment it’s there to the far-off future, you might as well just avoid it’ catchphrase?” Carolina asks, crossing her arms over her chest and sending York at quiet glare. She doesn’t want to defend Wash or directly stand with the point he’s also making.

“That was meant to be directed to the possibility of a helmet malfunctioning—it applies Wash and only Wash, basically.”

“It applies to your smoking problem, too.”

York’s passive and almost constant grin turns to a mildly concern frown at this. “Whadda ya mean by ‘smoking problem’?” he asks; and Wash only rolls his eyes.

_You’ve got a smoking problem because you smoke, York. That’s all a smoking problem is._

“Well, you smoke—and usually that’s not good for you—so you have a smoking problem,” he points out, and York delivers the exact same reaction as Wash had just a few seconds ago by rolling his eyes.

He’d heard this plenty of times before. From North—and not South, because South didn’t give a shit if he smelled a little weird at times (and usually he didn’t, because York showered at least three times a day and didn’t go through packs upon packs of cigarettes) or if the air was just a little harder to breath in. North would give him passive and non-forceful suggestions and tips; but he never pulled the bullshit ‘it’ll catch up to you one day’ stuff. Connie might show her concerns, too. But that would only be if she hadn’t smoked in the past herself. And of course Carolina and Wash voiced their opinions. They were doing that right now.

“One: I don’t have [lung cancer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#). Two: It’s like, three or four cigarettes a week— _at most._ Not two entire packs a day, and three: I don’t smell like someone in a disturbing and smoke-filled barbeque accident.”

Carolina could care less about these ‘three important facts to remember’. Yes, York’s ‘smoking problem’ was not a big one. Yes, he didn’t have lung cancer or a slowly developing case of that, he didn’t smoke entire packs, and he didn’t smell bad and he couldn’t possibly have bad lungs; because you needed good lungs to run as quick and hard as Freelancers did.

“And that should make stopping the pattern all the [more](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) easier.”

“I’m not going to [stop smoking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#).”

“You could stop using [quotes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) from The Fault in Our Stars incorrectly,” Wash mutters. He’s not so much concerned about York’s smoking problem as he is about the quote and its actual meaning (though, genuinely; he just thought it was just something cool to add into some conversations, assuming that it wasn't repeated by York). Augustus Waters’ forcibly pretentious and arrogant personality made York’s saying this unfortunately ironic and amusing, though. Carolina might think the same about this, too.

But she couldn’t: because she couldn’t possibly have time to sit down and read an old teenager’s [novel by](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) John Green; and she didn’t, because while she actually might of had time to sit down and read an old teenager’s novel by John Green, she chose not to.

[Books](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) were something trivial and less meaningful for Carolina than they might be for other people.

“Wash.” York’s grin has returned; and his focus is set entirely on Wash when he says this.

Why did this conversation suddenly concern him again? He’d left a comment _just now,_ and before his comments had been thrown to the side and deemed meaningless. Oh well; he was part of it, technically, so there should be no complaints (whether stated aloud or not) from Washington’s end.“Yeah?”

“Touch the cave wall.”

“Lick the cave wall.”

“Hump the moist cave wall.”

“Wait—what? What the hell are you two talking about?” There was no use in interrupting this sudden and absolutely random and likely quote-filled conversation; Carolina would only be ignored.

“Not _jump_. HUMP.”

She was being ignored.

“Dude, I've been alone in the dark in this cave for weeks and I need some relief. HUMP THE CAVE WALL."

She was only a faded ghost in this fast-paced conversation.

“Thrust pelvis against the moist cave wall.”

“Make sweet love to the cave.”

“Stop quoting things about fucking a cave from a [book](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) or a movie or whatever,” Carolina’s voice rings out with unpleasantly loud volume. York and Wash almost immediately stop their little back-and-forth quoting session—but that won’t keep them silenced for long. Wash might sustain himself a little longer than York, but that’s only because York is about twenty times more casual around Carolina than him or practically anyone else.

She lets out a long and drawn-out breath. It’s obviously fake and over-exaggerated, and it does the exact opposite of intimidating anyone. It’s comical; really. “I hope I never have to listen to you guys discuss your plans focused around humping a moist cave wall—“Carolina taps her fingers against the wall next to her, “—or _see_ you hump a moist cave wall. Ever.”

York’s definitely going to remember to seek out moist cave walls the next time they’re off the Mother of Invention.

“If you would’ve added in more confused comments while we talked back and forth, you could’ve been the [computer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#),” York offers with a shrug. He's biting his lip and giving Carolina the most over-exaggerated and disappointed facial expression he can manage right now.

“If you wouldn’t of gone off talking back and forth with Wash, I could be convincing you of [the dangers of smoking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#)—are you _seriously_ lighting that right now?” Carolina’s tone is one of sour disbelief. Because yes; York is.

He’s holding the cigarette in the way you usually held cigarettes, and his expression could be titled as ‘completely neutral’—only it isn’t. York has this incredibly smart ass grin spread across his lips, and he looks perfectly content with the prospect of changing the ‘general conversation topic’ and giving the killing thing the power to do its killing.

The light is less than an inch away from the end of the cigarette when York lights it and takes a quick puff. Smoking is a trivial thing that offers little pleasure to just about anyone. It’s quite literally just an [addictive drug](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) that exists for the sake of that very little pleasure and plenty of problems and complaints for others, which is exactly what people against it describe it as.

But York liked things that brought a little pleasure and plenty of problems: so cigarettes were his kind of thing.

“Thanks for being unclean in a place close to where people try to be clean,” Wash mutters; taking a step away from York and his recently-lit cigar. He shoots a quick glance up at the ceiling above, eyeing the indents and subtle flaws he’s grown all too accustomed to.

“Is unclean even a word?”

“I think it actually _is_ a word, York. But, yeah: thanks for being unclean close to a place where people try to be clean,” Carolina’s voice is a lot louder than Wash’s, but that’s expected. It’s almost always louder than Wash’s.

There’s a brief silence after this; and maybe it can be titled as an ‘awkward silence’, only it’s not caused by some sort of morbid and socially awkward incapability of replying, which might make it not awkward. To put it simple: all three of them just decided to collectively not talk for a few seconds.

“The fact that you light the cigarette is actually pretty depressing, if I’m getting the meaning of your little ‘metaphor’ right,” Carolina breaks the silence with this statement. Her expression is dull, despite what she’s going off and hinting towards.

“Really?”

“Yes. Because you’re giving the thing that kills the power to do it’s killing. You’re basically hinting towards suicide,” this earns an alarmed expression from both York and Wash. There’s plenty of things she could stay in response to them (the expressions), but there’s a perfect reason for their presence: so Carolina doesn’t. She is getting a bit on the dark side—considering the fact that they’d been giving York crap about lighting a cigarette next to the locker rooms and lighting cigarettes in general, and now she was saying this.

“But m’ not dead. I just have worse lungs than you. While there is the possibility of early death caused by the usage of cigarettes; it’s not apparent and present right now. Course’, results take time to show. No matter what method is used, so in a way: you’re correct. Think of it this way, though: I find pleasure in it.” York’s grinning, in spite of the abrupt turn in the conversational topic. “I'm embracing death as a cure, not a curse.”

Right now, Wash sees it fit to jump on in with something to lighten the mood. It was (again) common to find York analyzing situations in completely irrational ways, all the while he makes a perfectly agreeable physiological statement. Of course, these statements couldn’t [apply](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) to everyone’s line of thinking; but Wash often times found himself contemplating some simple phrase York would make up and finding it to be a genuinely helpful rule to live by. “Hey, uh—guys? Calm down. We’re all going to slowly morph together and become the actual philosopher York if we keep this up. 'Everyone' being everyone on this ship.”

“Thanks for the warning, Wash.” Carolina replies, and doesn’t say anything about York’s latest catchphrase. It _is_ a good thing to keep in mind, though. .

“Yeah, you’re welcome. No-one wants to be York.”

“No one wants to be Wash.”

“I’m glad we all want to be Carolina, then,” tilting herself away from the wall, she makes her away towards York’s side of space. He moves towards the wall separating the men’s locker room and the women’s; guessing that she’s going to go in. They probably made enough noise already. Having shared physiological views as well as [book](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) references in an obnoxiously loud manner.

“How about you [stop smoking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) that cigar and get yourself cleaned up?”

“Sure.”

“You too, Wash.”

He already has the locker room door open. “I’m way ahead of you,” Wash says; shooting a look over his shoulder at Carolina (who’s doing the exact same thing as him) and York: who’s barely moved from his original position.

“I can do that, yeah,” York agrees with a small shrug of his shoulders. He removes the cigarette in an almost solemn manner. Allowing the smoke to escape from his lips one [more](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1497328#) time before retiring it all too early. He holds it down at his sides. Balancing it between his fingers the same way he had been earlier. “Wash?”

“Yeah?”

“Hump the moist shower wall.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“. . .”

“ ‘Lina?”

“Yes?”

“Do the same, will ya?”

“Whatever, York.”


End file.
